


Rite of Passage

by Etched_in_Fire



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Coerthas, Gen, Ixali, Miqo'te, N tribe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-07-26 22:01:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7591954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etched_in_Fire/pseuds/Etched_in_Fire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meant as a symbol of passage into adulthood, the First Hunt is a ritual that has been passed down through the women of the N tribe since their time in Thanalan generations prior.  N'thaliah Xhin had always known that one day she would partake in the ceremony... She just did not know what all would befall her on her journey from adolescence into a grown woman.  Armed with her spear and accompanied by three of her sisters, she sets out on a fateful hunt that will change her life forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Sisters Who Knew No Fear

She had picked out her spear carefully, sharpened it the way her sister had instructed, and had donned her thickest hunting coat.  A gander over her shoulder at where her youngest brother slept, just ten years old, she smiled to herself.  Today, she would undergo the First Hunt, a rite of passage by her people that would mark her as a fully-fledged huntress and an adult among her tribe.

            Normally, there would have been dancing and chants to bid her farewell into the Coerthan forest, but N’thaliah had kept her intentions privy to a select few—her closest, most stalwart friends.  A festival would have been nice, she supposed, but… well, N’thaliah had her reasons.  Her mother was not taking her daughter’s coming of age well, and N’thaliah was convinced bumping into her would cause a meltdown that would unfreeze the Calamity’s handiwork.  Perhaps it was because N’thaliah’s mother was not willing to admit she was growing old—old enough to have a daughter be considered a true member of the tribe instead of a mewling child.  Regardless, any attempts at talking to her about the First Hunt had fallen on deaf, albeit angry ears. 

            So N’thaliah had come up with a plan.  If she just… did the First Hunt without telling anyone beforehand, she still qualified to become a true huntress… right?  It seemed logical enough.  She would still meet the criteria… just without the angry lecture and the festivities.  

 N’laani would be waiting for her at the usual spot just outside of the village, donned in a similar fashion with a big grin on her face.  She had been waiting for this day just as much as N’thaliah had. _I shouldn’t keep her waiting…_

            From the wooden hut, she emerged with her sack thrown expertly over one shoulder—just the way her sister had always shown her.  A sweeping look across their meager village, and N’thaliah saw not a single trace of her mother… _Thank Azeyma, or whoever decided to look out for me today…!_  She made her stealthy down the hill, keeping off the worn village path as best as she could.

            The central campfire was being tended to nearby by a pair of huntresses, adding just the right amount of kindling so that it would never go out.  When the sun set, they would gather together for a sharing of tales—the elder females passing on their knowledge to the younger ones.  These stories were the Firesongs, their ancient history and why they had come to the Coerthas Highlands from their merciless desert homeland years ago.  But the tales of other lands intrigued her more than her own bloodlines.  If she heard the tale of N’kahen the Drakeslayer one more time, she was certain she was going to fling herself into the place the elezen called “Witchdrop”.

            She wanted to hear about Ul’dah, the place the elders said was made of gold.  She wanted to hear about the spirits of the forest to the south… the Shroud, they called it.  She wanted to hear the stories about the pirates, the ones that stood twenty feet tall and had names that tongues jumbled up all the time.  She wanted to hear about the pirate-island, Limsa Lominsa. 

            But knowing her luck, it was going to be another passionate rendition of N’kahen the Drakeslayer, and N’thaliah stuck her tongue out at the fire as she crept by.  If the village guards saw her leave, they did not bother her.  With relief swelling from within, her pace became more hurried as she entered the frosted forest, a smile spreading across her face.  _Ha!  Easy._

            N’laani was exactly where she had been predicted to be, her pale hair tied back into a braid that ran to the middle of her back.  “Hey, sister,” she purred with delight.  A spear was in her hand, standing almost the same height as the huntress.  “Are you ready to go?”

            “Yeah!” N’thaliah felt herself say a little too enthusiastically.

            “Good to hear,” N’laani smiled, “You’ll do fine, just remember everything I’ve taught you.” She paused, her forefinger lightly bopping N’thaliah’s nose. “And I do mean everything!”

            “I’ll try my best!” N’thaliah said, reddening about her cheeks. _Everything?  I hope I can remember everything…_

            “I’ve brought some of our sisters to help us today.  They will meet us downriver,” N’laani said. “Let’s not keep them wait—”

            “Thaliah!” A voice roared with such ferocity that the aspiring hunter was nearly sent clean out of her skin. “What in the world do you think you are doing?”

            She did not have to look to know her mother had found her.  N’anakhya Taha was a formidable woman with skin as fair as snow and eyes that could pierce into souls like twin cerulean icicles. N’thaliah froze, any ounce of energy born from her teenage rebelliousness sapped from her under the pressure of her mom’s glare.  N’anakhya glanced at N’laani, then back to her daughter, arms folded across her chest.

            “Well?” asked her mother impatiently.

            “Mother,” N’thaliah began with strained civility. “I’m going on my First Hunt.”

            N’anakhya studied her eldest daughter for a moment and N’thaliah lifted her chin in defiance.  Years of experience lay in the way her mother stood, in the way she moved, and in the way she breathed.  Her cold eyes crept over every inch of the young teen, inspecting and prying.  Eventually, the inspection yielded a scoff. “You’re too young.”

            “I’m not!” N’thaliah protested, but N’laani stepped in between them.

            “N’anakhya, she is of age, as per our tribe traditions.  Any objections would have to be taken to the nunh,” N’laani said calmly, not flinching under the mother’s frosty gaze.  “Unless the nunh disagrees, then she can’t be stopped from taking her first step as a full member of this tribe.”

            Tension filled the air.  N’thaliah watched between the two unmoving forces as they glared each other down, and wondered what would happen if a fight were to break out.  The nunh would be forced to take action.  The two would likely be dragged to his hut for a scolding and to each say their piece before he made an executive decision.  It was likely the nunh would rule in her favor as opposed to her mother’s, N’thaliah understood, as her mother had little valid reasoning to keep her from joining the huntresses.  But the incident would have been awkward, embarrassing even.

“You are… not wrong,” N’anakhya admitted carefully, brow furrowed. “But if this is to be her First Hunt, then I would have it done in the traditional way in its fullest--- a sending off and a celebration for the… well, _hopefully_ triumphant return.”

            “Mom, we already have people waiting—” N’thaliah began sourly.

            “Then they can wait a moment longer,” N’anakhya said with a smug smirk tossed over her shoulder.  “I will speak with the nunh.”

            When her mother had vanished, N’thaliah turned to N’laani, giving her an exasperated look. “Why’d you have to drag the nunh into this?  We could’ve just left, she couldn’t have stopped us.”

            “She could’ve certainly tried,” N’laani shrugged but gave a melodious laugh. “Doesn’t matter, though!  You’re on your way to becoming a true member of the N tribe.  I’ll fetch the others, they won’t be far.”

            When N’anakhya returned, she radiated a sense of victory that made the budding huntress’s frown deepen.  “Well, he wasn’t pleased we’re doing this with such short notice, but he’s agreed to give you his blessing.”  Her mother beckoned her to follow, sweeping aside the skins that acted as a makeshift door to their humble hut at the top of the hill, just to the left of the nunh’s.

            “I can’t believe you honestly thought you were going to sneak off.  Your brother came and got me in an instant,” N’anakhya said as she began to braid the sides of her daughter’s hair.

            _Oh he did, did he?_ N’thaliah shot a spiteful glare at where her young brother, N’hyako, was playing with a set of bone carvings, fashioned to look like dragons, deer, wolves, and hunters.  He did not spare her a single sheepish look. _What a little rat!_

“You… didn’t have to try to sneak off, you know,” her mother sounded hurt as she finished the braid off and bade her daughter to face her.  N’thaliah didn’t want to see the pain in her eyes, but she snuck a look—and found herself glued to N’anakhya’s melancholy.  “I know I have not been very receptive of you wanting to partake in this… It’s just… When you become an adult, you have so much responsibility.  I don’t want you to waste most of your life away in this world, not when you could still be a child.”

            “I’m going to grow up anyways, Mother, you might as well embrace it,” N’thaliah said stubbornly and her mother gave her a small pinch on the arm. “Ow!”

            “Such a sassy girl.  Who raised you?” N’anakhya gave a sigh.  She rose from the hut’s floor and found a collection of pots on the wooden shelves.  With deft precision, she grabbed one of the ones in the middle, pulling it off the shelf.  Why that one, N’thaliah did not know.  They all had looked the same to her.  Her mother opened the jar, and looked at the contents with a squint, sloshing the jar about with both hands. “I know, I just… Wish you wouldn’t be in such a rush to grow up.  Being an adult isn’t fun, N’thaliah.”

            “Whatever you say, Mother,” N’thaliah gave a small snicker.  N’anakyha’s hand reached up to her daughter’s chin, holding her head steady.  She dipped a thumb into the jar, gathering an abundance of black paint and smeared it under each of N’thaliah’s eyes.  There was an old tale that the paint of the N tribe contained the ashes of their deceased warriors.  N’thaliah was not sure if it was true—she had seen their dead cremated, so the feral-minded dragons would not desecrate their remains.  If the ashes were put into their warpaints, then N’thaliah sincerely hoped the ashes she was being given belonged to hardworking warriors, not a bunch of lazy potters or basket weavers.

            “You will do fine,” N’anakhya said to her, drawing another line from the top of her forehead down her nose, skipping over her lips and continuing the line on her chin. “You are my daughter.”

            “N’laani will be out there with me,” N’thaliah shrugged. “Even if I do mess up—” _Which I won’t._ “—she’ll be there to save me.” She shot her mother a beaming grin.

            “Well, supervision or not, you should still be careful.  A couple of huntresses came back yesterday, saying the birdmen have been straying further and further from their territory,” N’anakhya warned her.  They rose from the hut’s floor, and N’anakhya did one last inspection of her daughter. “You look like I did when I was your age.”  There was sentimentality in her voice, but no tears in her winter eyes.  The highlands had all made them callous in a way. 

            “Come, the others are waiting,” her mother said to her and only after drawing in a deep breath to mentally steel herself, N’thaliah followed N’anakhya out of the hut. 

            The village had been roused—the drummers had begun a steady tempo the moment she stepped into the cold air, her braid whipping in the wind.  An elderly woman on a flute trilled a wonderful melody as her mother led her to the campfire, where their meager tribe awaited her with eyes glowing with excitement.  A few offered congratulations to her over the music, and she responded with a small wave back and a bashful smile.

            _Well, maybe all the attention isn’t so bad,_ N’thaliah thought to herself, cheeks flushing under her people’s gaze. _I just hope all of this drumming and stuff doesn’t scare away all of the prey…_

            N’xhin was standing between two lit torches, still cutting an impressive figure despite being past his prime.  Grey strands decorated his blond hair.  The paint he wore on his face only did so much to hide the wrinkles that had already formed.  In his younger years, her father had cut a handsome figure.  It was said that he could cleave a drake in two with one fell swoop of his axe, but N’thaliah questioned how accurate those claims were.  On that particular day, his hair was brushed back, strands of his beard braided.  A cane supported him, its head carved into the face of a ram.

            The beating of the drums went quiet as the nunh’s free hand rose.  “Members of the N tribe!” His voice was still strong as thunder, resounding in the frosted highlands. “Today, one of our own has decided to take her first steps into becoming a huntress, a fully-fledged member of our society.  Thaliah, please step forward.”

            She broke away from her mother’s side, looking into the green eyes of the man who had sired her.  Not once had she not considered him to be her father, despite the aloofness that had come from his position as a leader.  Whenever they spoke, she felt a tenderness from him, the sort that would come from any father to his daughter.  But she did not delude herself—there was distance between them emotionally; it was the distance between a subordinate and her leader.  There was pride in his eyes as he looked down at her, a smile curling onto his cracked lips. 

            “Who among the tribe will go with this daughter of the sun?  Who will stand as her witness?” N’xhin questioned the gathered crowd.

            Not a moment after the nunh had asked did N’laani appear, a sister to her left and right.  The first was N’ulu, a stone-faced woman with untraditionally short-cropped hair and pale jade eyes.  The other was N’ranvih, a girl just a year older than N’thaliah, her sunny hair tied into a simple ponytail. 

            “I will,” N’laani said confidently, and N’ulu and N’ranvih echoed her.

            “Do any of the N tribe hereby object to this?” N’xhin asked the tribe, and not a single soul spoke in protect. “Then it is settled, under the watch of the Warden and our ancestors both,” the nunh said with a nod.  To N’thaliah, he turned, warmth radiating from him. “May your spear aim true.  May your arrows fly far.  And may the hunt be swift,” With two fingers, N’xhin touched her forehead.  “Azeyma watch over you.”

            The drumbeats and flute were the background symphony of their departure.  N’laani permitted her to take up the front.  As the huntress undergoing the trial, she would be expected to lead them and their opinions of her tactics, skill, and power would all come into play if she passed or not.  It was not often than huntresses failed—N’thaliah had never seen someone fail to appease their hunting party or the nunh.

            _Ha, well… I don’t want to be the first!_

As the merriment faded into the sounds of the natural forest, N’thaliah kept her spear close at hand, emptying the sheath strapped to her back.  The highlands were dangerous—notorious for their various factions.  The N tribe was an invader in their own way, not as native as the elezen or the Dravanians that had been here generations before them.  It was before N’xhin when the N tribe had migrated from the Thanalan, to the place where it seemed the sun never shined.  She could feel no warmth from the heavens—there was only the bite of winter against her face and N’thaliah snuggled further into her hunter’s skins to protect herself.  Her green eyes darted about the snowy forest, ever on the lookout for something lurking nearby.

            _Does the Warden even see us here?  It’s so cloudy…_

She could only hope.  An encounter with the local Ishgardians would certainly make her First Hunt that much more difficult… She didn’t want to think of what would happen if they ran into a dragon…

            “Are you coming?” N’laani asked her, and N’thaliah realized she had stopped walking entirely, lost in her own thoughts.

            “Yes, was just thinking is all,” she replied, blushing slightly as she raced to catch up with her sisters.


	2. Cornered Prey

“Where to first, sister?” N’laani asked her with an eager smile.

            “The river,” N’thaliah decided, “There may be tracks there.  We can follow them to our prey.”

            “A decent enough plan, provided the snow doesn’t cover them up…” N’ulu nodded, stoic as ever. “Lead the way.”

            Snowfall softly blanketed the Coerthan woods, the sun veiled behind a thick slate grey blanket of clouds.  The smell of the air stung her nose—it was sharp, cold, and unpleasant, but it was home.  Before the Calamity, when the sky had rained fire, the highlands had been far more enjoyable.  The cold had been present in the touch of the wind—a mere shadow of the roaring gales that now plagued the highlands.  Her tribe’s hunts had been more bountiful then as well… the dragons had been restless but their belligerence had soared to new heights.  It was a concoction of their ferocity and the permanent winter that had caused the herds to move onward, leaving behind Coerthas to become a desolate landscape with hardly a speck to color to disturb the bleak grey and white.

            The rivers that ran Coerthas like veins in an arm were half-frozen, slow-moving bodies of water.  It was not impossible to drown, N’thaliah believed, but it would have taken effort to do so.  She had been right in her assumption that the river would draw out what wildlife remained in the Coerthas highlands; even upon their approach, she saw one of the larger feral crocodiles nearby, its maw agape as it attempted to soak in the faint sunlight as it lay on a rock. 

            “Don’t touch it,” warned N’ulu cautioned, even though they all knew the dangers of messing with one of the scalekin. 

            “Upriver,” N’thaliah decided before they could question her, and she led the way along the shoreline, keeping a wary eye on the lazy croc as it sat on its snow-crusted throne.  She was thankful that it did not move or lash out at them as they passed it by.

            She scoured where the water licked the dirt—mud was more likely to keep prints than snow, especially if it continued to dust the hunters as they traveled.  It was some time before she found a set that were noteworthy (drake prints and the hulking remnants of a giant leftover with an Ishgardian spear through her did not sound appetizing in the slightest).  The tracks were fresh—carved into the mud and snow both, and N’thaliah’s ears perked with excitement. 

            “What is it?” N’laani asked her.

            “A deer,” N’thaliah replied and began to follow them, beckoning to her sisters with a hand.

            The pathway took them away from the river and its lazy flow and the side of a snowy hill’s slope.  It was giant territory and nearby a dormant fragment of Dalamud pulsed eerily, as though it were still alive.  She had personally not come this way often—the giants that lingered nearby were dangerous, perhaps more so than the dragons.  The atmosphere of the land had been altered… the air wavered before her, as if engulfed in a misted mirage.  N’thaliah extended a hand to let the image of the moon ripple before her eyes, and she watched it do so with childish wonder.

            “I never liked this place,” N’ranvih hissed under her breath, the fur on her tail standing on end.  “Just seemed so creepy…!”

            “The moon still lives,” N’ulu observed, her tail lashing with distaste. “And something tells me it is displeased it was dragged from the heavens.”

            _It’s creepy, yeah…_  N’thaliah considered. _But I doubt the moon is going to do anything._ She paused, looking it over skeptically. _It doesn’t even look like a proper moon… I thought all moons were just big round rocks in the sky?_

            “Then Menphina can have it back,” N’laani yawned lazily. “We have a deer to find… if it has strayed this way, then we will find it… Regardless of what may or may not be watching.”

            “It did,” N’thaliah said, pointing at the trail as it continued over the nearby hill.

            They pressed on until their quarry came into sight—a stag with antlers that marked him a successful breeding male.  His many prongs indicated he was entering his elder years, but the scars carved into his flesh told tales of a rambunctious youth.  N’thaliah could tell he would be a trial to fight, but she welcomed it with the swipe of her tongue across her lower lip. 

            “N’ranvih and N’ulu, you have brought bows?” N’thaliah asked them and they nodded, “You will startle him towards N’laani and myself.  There is not much cover out here, but…” She scanned the land, all the while keeping low to the side of the hill so their prey could not see her.  A small thicket was in the distance and she gestured to it.

            “We will be over there.  Chase the deer towards us and we will spring an ambush,” N’thaliah decided.

            “An interesting plan,” N’ulu commented, “But usually we have the spears chase while the bows lie in wait.”

            N’thaliah felt her cheeks flush. “I am confident we can do it this way,” she insisted. 

            Her older half-sister gave a shrug, and N’laani chimed in, “Well, we will give it a try.  Let’s see what our young sister’s plan yields…” The sunny miqo’te gave the other two a smile and with the gentle clap of her hand on her sister’s shoulder, she was off.

            The thicket she had selected was ideal for an ambush—the flora was surprisingly thick, despite the trees being barren from the eternal cold.  N’thaliah crouched low to the ground, her knees cracking along with a few other joints as she exhaled quietly.

            “Why did you put those two on the chase?” N’laani asked her, brows raised.

            “I can make the shot,” N’thaliah answered. “I’ve been practicing like how you told me to.”

            N’laani’s eyes grew wide, “You’re going to try to kill it… in one blow?  Thaliah, that is terribly reckless.  You only have one shot at it.”

            “Oh, come now, I didn’t say I was going to make the shot.  I simply said I could make the shot,” N’thaliah smirked back at her older half-sister. “But on the off-chance that I have to do that, I know I can make it.”

            “That confidence is going to get you into trouble one day,” N’laani warned her, but smiled all the same.

            Their wait was a brief, but enjoyable respite from trekking in the cold.  N’thaliah was almost sad when she saw the deer come for them, silent terror in its eyes.  Her heart lurched when she readied her spear, the weight familiar in her hands.  An arrow had become embedded into the stag’s flank, but it was not slowed—not yet, at least.  Willpower, age, and fear kept it hurtling through the highlands and directly towards the pair of hunters.  She did not tell N’laani when to spring, but they did so in tandem.  Her sister’s spear clipped the stag’s shoulder, and it bleated woefully as it reared back, lashing out with sharp hooves towards N’laani’s head.  Her sister ducked out of the way, sending another stern jab at the stag.

            Fear sent another flurry of hooves at N’laani, and N’thaliah lodged her spear into the prey’s opposite shoulder, just at the base of the neck, before pulling back to dodge a headbutt.   The stag’s legs went out in kicks—wild and frantic—and then he began running.  At his retreating form, she lifted her spear one more time, her free hand used to help aim the oversized projectile.

            Her confidence in her abilities was shaken the moment she let the spear fly—and as it hurtled through the air she wondered if her plan had been the most well thought out one.  She wondered if it had adequately showcased her skills as a huntress… and yet, all of that vanished when the spear struck true—into the stag’s neck, yet not enough to make an instant kill. 

            “Follow!” she yelled to whomever was nearby, and N’thaliah took off after it. 

            Its death run was faster than what pace she could uphold for an extended amount of time, and so the would-be huntress fell back, following the blood splatters in the snow.  Her sisters doggedly jogged after her, but she kept her attention on the trail of crimson.  _He won’t make it far…_

“You struck him substantially,” N’ranvih sounded impressed as she caught up to her. “N’laani did teach you well.”

“Of course I did!” N’laani exclaimed.

            It was awhile yet before they found their quarry, dead in a pool of his own blood and knelt with his legs buckled beneath him.  Sizing him up, N’thaliah marveled at how big he had been—his muscles were beginning to wither, but a stag of his size would surely bring many good meals to her village, and that thought made her grin as she dislodged her spear from the deer’s neck. 

            “Good job,” N’laani purred with delight. 

            “It was a team effort,” N’thaliah said modestly, grinning from ear to ear as she observed the deer’s antlers.  His head had lost an amount of blood, she noted as she moved it from side to side during her inspection.  Her eyes, at first, found nothing out of the ordinary—her prey had been aged and mature, but he had still been strong and the weight of the antlers told her that much.  But as she turned his head to uncover the side of his face that had once been resting against the snow… N’thaliah could not help but feel a tingle of uncanny amazement.

            His head had been caved in—brutally bashed so that his flesh had become shredded on that side.  Bits of his skull were visible—stained sanguine from the blood that had come from the wound.  _A killing blow.  Shortening my spear’s work…_

            “What did you…?” N’thaliah managed before it happened. 

            There were no war drums.  No cries.  Their ambushers fell on them instantly, spears, clubs, and makeshift swords in hand.  N’ranvih’s scream filled her ears as the birdmen shot her through the stomach with one of their plumed arrows.  N’ulu took the first two out deftly, her teeth gnashed into a snarl.  There were at least ten of them, armored and shrieking shrill war cries as they charged in.

            If they were speaking words, N’thaliah could not understand them.  Fear became her language… and that beget violence.  With her spear still bloodied, she faced them, an arrow thudding into the ground next to her.  Her voice was lost in the chaos that ensued as the beasts came for them, seeming to manifest from the woodwork and snow.  She attacked one out of terror, slashing and stabbing at it with fearful, unplanned attacks.  One of their clubs knocked the wind out of her, and as she sat in the bloodied snow, N’laani covered for her, letting their swords dig into the wood of her spear before parrying with an eventual stab to one’s feathered gut.

            “We need to get out of here!” N’laani yelled to them, but N’ranvih was unconscious on the ground and N’ulu had become engulfed in her own fear, lashing out at everything that came near. 

            “The warriors…” N’thaliah suggested feebly as she rose from the dirt and snow. “The tribe…”  Her mind could not come up with full sentences, but she hoped her sisters understood her meaning.

            _We can’t do this by ourselves._

            A slash and a stab at her and she somehow dodged them both, and the young teen made a frightened step back towards her half-sister.  She was afraid and it was eating her alive, swallowing her until it felt like there was nothing left.  Hunting was one thing… fighting in a battle was another thing. 

            … Or was it?

            One of the Ixali had grabbed N’laani by the braid, hoisting her into the air and letting its dagger tickle her sister’s chin.  N’thaliah was not sure when it had happened, but it unleashed a monstrous snarl from her and she hoisted her spear with one hand. _Just like before…_  An aim, reaching back with the polearm, and she sent it flying, sinking into the birdman’s eye and out of the back of his skull.

            _Got him!_

            N’laani looked up at her, relief in her brimming dark forest eyes.  She said something, but N’thaliah could not quite make out the words on her lips… The cries in the Coerthas highlands were too loud, drowning out all speech.  But the look of joy turned to utter horror in N’laani’s eyes as N’thaliah felt something rip through her and a blink later, she was in the snow, its cold covering her as the merciless clouds watched the onslaught.

            The deafening noises somehow became like static in her ears… and soon, she drifted into an unsettled slumber, the world around her spinning into nothingness.


	3. Those Who Continue

She awoke tucked snugly into thick furs, her huntress garments stripped from her pale body.  Hair a tangled mess, she brushed it out of her eyes, staring at the inside ceiling of a hut.  N’thaliah felt a pang of agony course through her as she attempted to rise, clutching the skins close to her chest to cover her nakedness.  In the darkness of the abode, she could scarcely see anything—the internal fire had been snuffed out and the airway above it had been sealed off.  Shadows stirring alerted her and yet she could not move, her legs aching and her torso stiff and sore.

“Thaliah,” her mother’s voice broke her fears and the would-be huntress shivered, emerald eyes cutting through the darkness.

Hair tied back in a messy ponytail and eyes shadowed, her mother had seemed to age a decade, but when her arms were thrown about N’thaliah’s neck, she could sense a burning strength.  She succumbed into sobs, her face buried into her mother’s shoulder.  It was a shameless cry that lasted for what felt like an eternity, but her mother did not say a word.  She kept holding her, two of her fingers trailing through her daughter’s earthy brown hair.  When it seemed like the last tear had trickled from her eyes, N’thaliah found more.  After some time, her mother pulled away, cupping her daughter’s chin tenderly with her fingers and looking at her face.  There was something numb in the woman’s eyes and N’thaliah clung to her, realizing after a moment that the tremble she felt was not through her own bones.

“Do not ever scare me like that again,” was all N’anakhya whispered to her daughter before hugging her again.

The two settled after a moment, N’anakhya handing N’thaliah a clean set of furs to wear.  She donned them happily, their warmth and cleanliness against her skin a pleasant feeling compared to the sweaty furs she had awoken.  A huntress came in to give them bowl of food.  The grief in the woman’s eyes and the unkempt hair made her hard to recognize, but as the woman looked at N’thaliah with tears edging in her eyes, did the young lady realize it was N’laani’s mother—N’jahnmo.  Before she could utter a word, the sorrowful huntress departed the hut.

“How are the others?” N’thaliah asked, knowing she was nourishing the dread settled into her stomach.  N’anakhya did not touch her meal for a moment, looking from it to her daughter with a pensive set of violet-blue eyes.

“N’ranvih was taken to a settlement nearby.  They are hoping to appeal to the lordling who sits Camp Dragonhead’s makeshift throne,” N’anakhya said quietly. “N’ulu is fine in body, but her mind is frightened, filled with fever dreams and fear.  N’xhin has her sitting with the elders so that they can impart peace unto her.”

“And N’laani?” N’thaliah asked.

Her mother drank from the cup that N’jahnmo had provided, her ears back and her gaze staring holes through the wall.  “She is missing.  We could not find her.  That is where N’xhin is now, with the tias and as many abled-bodied huntresses we could muster.”

“They went after the Ixali?” N’thaliah asked, eyes wide.

“Yes.  To Natalan,” N’anakhya answered.  “Enough questions for now.  You must eat.  You have been asleep for two days now and your body needs nourishment.”

N’thaliah was discontent to just eat in silence, but her stomach welcomed it.  She shoveled the food into her mouth with such speed that her mother cautioned her to slow down.  Ears back she pondered N’laani for a long awhile.  _Missing… I couldn’t save her after all._ Doubt began to chew on her thoughts and before she knew it, the tears had returned with a vengeance.  N’anakhya did not comment upon it, and N’thaliah let the droplets crash onto the ground, pushing her plate away for a moment.

_Where have they taken her?  It’s been two days… Is she even alive?_

Her chest tightened with worry.  The Ixali were brutal, merciless beings that resided primarily in the central highlands.  They did not believe in the Twelve but in their own idol, a harpy that craved destruction of mankind itself by whipping winds.  The bird-folk called her the Lady of the Vortex, and her wrath was said to be only be dwarfed by that of the dreadwyrm that had erupted from the moon.

_Father… and all of those huntresses.  Will they make it out alive?_

After the meal, N’thaliah laid down on the provided furs once more, and one of the elders hobbled in, her weight rested on a gnarled staff.  N’thaliah knew her as the oldest of the tribe—N’vernhi Iwen, one of the only who had mastered magic by studying in Gridania.  The lady sat next to her, a pleasant smile on her wrinkled face.  Once, the elder’s hair had been braided back like all of the huntresses, but now she let it flow in gorgeous ringlets—silvery cascades that the children often liked to tug on.  Even N’hyako liked to bother her, though the elderly woman did not seem to mind.

The elder bade her to lift her furred tunic so that she could inspect the stab wound in her middle.  N’thaliah obeyed without question, her eyes tracing over the stitching they had performed upon her.  N’vernhi touched the girl’s stomach, fingers gentle yet cold as a winter’s bite.  It took a lot for her to not recoil, but N’thaliah managed. The elder’s palm glowed a pleasant green and some of the pain ebbed away in her middle and N’thaliah breathed a small sigh of relief.

“How are you feeling?” the old woman asked, dark eyes moving from the wound to the hunter’s face.

“A bit sore,” N’thaliah confessed, “But your magic seemed to help.”

“It was a numbing spell.  It should make things more bearable for you until it has healed,” the elder said with a small nod. “You will not be able to hunt for some time.  Most of your recovery will be from rest and time.”

“I want to look for N’laani,” N’thaliah blurted and her mother’s expression grew incredibly cross.

“You will leave that to the huntresses and to those strong enough to do so.  Right now, you’re barely strong enough to hunt a hare, much less fight Ixali,” N’anakhya’s stern voice would not be argued with and N’thaliah shrank back into her furs, frowning all the while.

“Your mother is right,” N’vernhi said with a sage nod, “If you reopen the wound, you will only cause your recovery process to become that much slower.  Relax.”  She looked to N’anakhya, then advised, “Bring her to those who cannot hunt any longer.  The elderly, such as myself.  We will teach her trades that can occupy the mind so it does not become restless.”

“My daughter is ever restless,” N’anakhya protested but a rueful smile fell onto her lips, “Just like her mother.  But yes, I will take her there.”

“Sounds delightful,” N’thaliah said with no enthusiasm whatsoever.

But, as it would happen, the times in which N’anakhya led the feeble N’thaliah to the expert weavers would quickly become the highlight of the young Seeker’s day.  Doing something with her hands kept her mind sharp when the shadows of the hut would dull it and the not even the smell of food cooking over a fire would snap her from her pensive thoughts. N’ulu frequented the weaving lessons as well, her smile fractured with memory and her hair cut even shorter than before.  N’anakhya revealed to her daughter that the girl had suffered a mental break and had taken a knife to her own hair out of grief over N’ranvih, who was announced to have passed the day after N’thaliah had awoken.  N’laani’s mother remained stone-faced and gaunt, her hands trembling and her baskets left incomplete as she would go to roam the riverside for hours on end—always as if she was searching.

Two more days passed by the time a horn called, signaling the return of the huntresses and their nunh.  N’xhin hopped off of his chocobo, his face grim and his axe uncleaned from battle.  A wrapped up blanket signified a body and N’thaliah’s hands covered her mouth as N’tyrku Tia and N’han Tia removed the body from a chocobo saddle. 

“N’ranvih returns to us,” was all N’xhin said, his voice keeping its rough edge.  N’thaliah wondered how many daughters he had buried in his lifetime—and if sweet, young N’ranvih would be the last.  The funeral would be held as the sun went down, and the elders took the body into their abode, N’ranvih’s sobbing mother following them to the doorstep and collapsing on the ground, her tears freezing in the snow.  N’anakhya halfway carried the woman away, her arms strong despite her age.

_This is what my Rite of Passage brought.  Nothing but suffering.  Nothing but agony._

N’jahnmo ran to the nunh, grabbing his sleeves even as he tried to walk away from them, his grizzled face set with rage.  “Where is my daughter?” the grief-stricken woman asked.

“She was not in Natalan,” N’xhin’s voice hushed the murmurs and even the sobs.  “That could mean many things—she could have found shelter with the Ishgardians or perhaps even adventurers.  She could be on her way back to the campsite as we speak.” 

The hope in N’jahnmo’s eyes could not be denied, yet the nunh’s expression softened and he put a tender hand on the woman’s shoulder.

“Do not give in to despair… but prepare your heart for the worst,” he advised her carefully before he retired into his hut, N’tyrku and N’han following him after a quick exchange of expressions.

N’ranvih’s funeral was a mournful dirge that silenced even the ice-pelted wolves.  The elders’ chants were an uncanny song into the waning day, words of their ancestral language that N’thaliah did not understand.  Torches illuminated the scene as the sun dipped further and further beyond the horizon, and the sharp winter winds began to stab at N’thaliah’s exposed cheeks.

_N’laani, are you out there somewhere?  Are you warm?  Are you safe?_

The girl with the sunny hair was buried in a cairn, where shadows would keep her company, along with the bones of their ancestors.  N’thaliah contemplated the life lost with a heaviness in her heart—a girl just a year older than she was.  It made the meaning behind her trial seem all the more bittersweet, all the more carrying weight.  The procession from the cairn to the village was wrought with tears and drumbeats—so deep that it resonated within the fabrics of her being. 

A week passed without much event.  N’hyako seemed to enjoy his elder sister being bedridden half the time and insisted she play with him.  N’thaliah entertained him, if only because if she refused, he would run crying to their mother.  She helped him carve out wooden toys and paint them when she was able to, but her mother began to truly start pushing the weaving upon her.

Her distaste for sewing and weaving grew after the week had expired and her half-sisters began to haunt her dreams with more and more frequency.  N’vernhi prescribed to her a sleeping draught that left her feeling drowsy even the following day, and so N’thaliah opted to deal with the nightmares over the sensation of being only half-awake.  Scouts scanned the perimeter about their campsite with hopes that N’laani would be recovered… and yet no sign of the missing huntress could be found.

N’xhin called her into his hut one particular afternoon, a pipe jutting out of his lips and a fire brewing in the pits of his housing, the air vent opened.  N’tyrku stood to his right, his dark green eyes flitting over her as she entered with a slight limp still, his arms folded across his chest.  The nunh’s face was neutral, his beard trimmed back.  She admitted that it made him look younger, but his greying hair betrayed what youth there was in his irises.

“After much consideration and a report from N’ulu, I have decided to commence your ceremony of passage,” N’xhin said. “The Ixali threat was not unexpected and from what I have been told, you fulfilled every requirement to become a huntress of this tribe before the attack.  Therefore, on the morrow, I will hold a ceremony and feast in your honor.”

Her ears went up at that information, and her eyes widened with surprise, “I… thank you, Father.” She said and the nunh’s lip curled with a smile. “But is it wise to hold a feast?  N’laani is still missing and N’ranvih…”

“We cannot sit in mourning until time runs out and the next Calamity occurs,” N’xhin said with the shake of his head. “The others will understand.  And besides, we could use a feast. Something to lift the spirits.”

N’thaliah nodded and the nunh politely thanked her for her time before she departed the hut.  Exhaustion led her feet to her family’s hut, where she slipped into a comfortable slumber.  When she awoke, it could not have been much later, the sun clotted by dark, grey clouds and the winds whipping through the Coerthan forest.  There were voices outside, but she could not decipher their words.  Stiffly, N’thaliah rose and stumbled out of the hut, donning her furred boots.

 Fog and snowfall had put an unsettling atmosphere about the campsite, the central fire not even enough to ward away the spirit of misfortune.  N’vernhi illuminated the area around her with a glowing palm, suspicion in her old eyes.  N’xhin had drawn his axe, his tail and hair standing on end in with nerves and his teeth gnashed.  Nearby, two huntresses had drawn their spears, and a chocobo cried out with fear.

“What sort of ill weather is this?” N’anakhya murmured, appearing at N’thaliah’s side.  Her hair had been tied back hastily and her spear was in hand, decorated heavily with chocobo feathers and stones. 

The first Ixali came from the woods, manifesting from the mist with its club raised.  A quickly drawn arrow took it by surprise and it fell, the shaft embedded through its throat.  Two more seemed to take its place, their march silent as they encroached upon the village.

“A counter-attack?” someone gasped.

“We’re surrounded!” another huntress confirmed with fear.

N’xhin moved without hesitation.  The nunh met the next of the birdmen who came from the fog, his axe cleaving it into two bloody halves. N’hyako grabbed N’thaliah’s leg and screamed, burying his face into the fur of her boot.  The huntresses retaliated with as much ferocity as their attackers, but kept close to the firelight.  N’thaliah returned to her hut and grabbed her spear, using it to lean against.

“Get the weak to safety!” the nunh barked at N’jahnmo, but her eyes were transfixed on something moving from the fog and shadows.  N’thaliah watched her as she stepped forward, arms open with invitation. 

“N’laani!” She screamed as the blonde huntress came into view, face decorated with pale green paint and her braid loosened into a wild waterfall of blonde hair.  N’thaliah’s heart stopped in that moment as N’laani’s uncannily bright green eyes looked through her own mother, face expressionless.

“By the Twelve…” N’anakhya gasped and N’xhin said nothing, his brow furrowing deeper.

“N’laani, you’re… you’re home!” N’jahnmo cried out, hope filling her voice.

The huntress did not see the Ixali warrior come barreling from the fog, his jagged blade at the ready.  Fortuantely, N’xhin saw the whole thing and his axe stopped the Ixali in its tracks for good.  N’laani watched the birdman fall without an ounce of remorse before returning her gaze to N’xhin.  The nunh pushed N’jahnmo away just moments before N’laani’s spear jerked upward suddenly, catching N’xhin in the shoulder. 

_What?_

There was a moment of silence between N’laani and N’xhin—even as the Ixali crawled from the fog into the village, they stood ever still, as statues would.  She backed a half-step, removing the spear from his shoulder, then posed to strike a second time.  N’xhin did not give her the chance to ready the attack, however, and chased her with his axe.  She nimbly dodged, her spear giving another thrust at the nunh.  He moved to the side, grabbing the base of the spearhead in his arm and trapping it against his body.  N’laani tugged back at it helplessly but the nunh did not relent and he gave her a swift kick to the stomach, tossing the spear away as the girl fell back into the snow.

“Take N’hyako,” N’anakhya interrupted her transfixed gaze upon the duel, and N’thaliah put a protective hand on her brother’s shoulder. “Keep him safe.”  Her mother smiled at her, a soft yet weak gesture, before plunging herself into the chaos.   

N’thaliah put herself between the melee and where the elders were huddled near the ridge of the hill in which their village sat.  The craggy slope made a descent impossible for the elderly, an so she could only hope the Ixali would not burst through the first line of defense.

“I’m scared, sis…” N’hyako cried, and she shushed him roughly, memories of her tussle with the Ixali flooding her mind.

It was N’ulu that shook her from her thoughts.  Her hair was wild and tussled by the wind, but there was a strength in them that broke through the fear she had seen over the past week.  N’ulu pulled out an arrow from her quiver and aimed it at the Ixali, her words a soft whisper, “Sweet N’ranvih.”

The arrow flew true into an incoming Ixali fighter, followed by another arrow into its closest friend.  More Ixali came, running past the engaged huntresses and towards the elders with hatchets raised.  N’thaliah did not remember moving, but somehow she did, pain in her torso a forgotten as she stabbed the first one.  Rage and fright seeped into her veins—what Ixali broke through that she did not kill, N’ulu shot.  It was a dance that lasted a lifetime, and trickles of energy seemed to pour into her with each stab, thrust, and jab.  N’vernhi joined her after a moment, her cane glowing with magicks and stones flying from the ground to meet their enemies.

All the while, glimpses of N’laani and N’xhin danced beyond the waves of Ixali warriors.  Somehow in the struggle, N’laani had recovered her spear, and N’xhin bled from the left side of his face, staining the blood.  The Ixali did not even pay them any mind, and N’laani was screaming things at the nunh that sounded like ravings of a madwoman.

“The Lady will come, you will see.  There’s no point to resist her!”

“Laani, you must cease this!” shot back the nunh, his axe stained with her blood.

“All will scatter on the wind,” the huntress said, her eyes wide with madness.

N’thaliah did not see next what became of her half-sister, the sneering beak of an Ixali soon in her face, its blade poised to strike.  Gut instinct caused her to dodge backwards, thrusting the spear forward but it was N’vernhi’s spell that tripped the birdman up.  Her spear came down upon its throat and a blink or two later, N’thaliah noticed how the Ixali were fleeing.

N’han and N’tyrku were restraining N’laani on the ground, her spear laying somewhere in the snow.  N’xhin looked down at her with a grim expression, the paint on his face smeared and the fringes of his hair tipped with frost and snow.  The blonde huntress kicked and screamed, as if overcome by a demon. 

“N’jahnmo,” his voice was an unpleasant growl and yet the woman stepped forth, her face dirtied by blood and wet with melting snow and tears. “Come.”  He ordered and the two tias grabbed N’laani by her arms, tying her with rope.  She struggled and screamed, hissing and spitting at them all.

“N’laani!” N’thaliah heard herself yell, and the huntress looked at her with a set of unfamiliar eyes.  The light in them was insane—foreign to the soft gaze N’thaliah knew.  A glob of spit fell onto her face from the writhing huntress, her voice reaching its height in volume.

“The Lady will find you all!  Bend knee to the true goddess!  Our goddess!”

N’tyrku struck N’laani with such a blow that she fell limp.  He dragged her up the hill towards N’xhin’s hut, not meeting anyone’s eye.  N’anakhya took N’thaliah into her arms, resting her chin on the top of her head.  “She is… ill.  Pay her no heed.”

“What’s wrong with her?” N’thaliah whimpered, smearing the spit from her cheek.  “Why is she acting like this?” She paused. “Why is she with the Ixali?” _Is this the sickness that everyone always warned me the Ixali would bring?_

N’anakhya went quiet then, her eyes studying something in the distance.  “She will… just need some time to recover.” She said, voice emotionless.  After a quick examination of her daughter, she stroked her hair, then commented, “You did well today, but you must rest.  Let’s have N’vernhi look over your wound from before.”

N’thaliah’s wound had surprisingly not opened during the melee.  She was given a draught to help her relax, which ushered her into a slumber without dreams.  The next day, N’jahnmo said nothing to her but looked even more stricken than she had previously, shadows and lack of eating evident in her gait and in her structure. 

“Where’s N’laani?” N’thaliah finally asked N’anakhya.

“She is…. She will be away for awhile,” was all her mother said, staring at where the elders were painting each other’s faces. “Do not let yesterday’s strife cloud today.  N’xhin says in two hours, you will be made into a fully-fledged member of our society.  That does not leave us much time to prepare you for the ceremony.”

Everything was a numb process to N’thaliah, but she tried her best to smile as her mother and another huntress braided her hair and decorated her face.  She was given a set of furs to wear and a headdress with beads that danced with every step she took.  Though she knew she looked good in the outfit, she felt indifferent towards it.

_N’laani was supposed to be the one to help me get ready.  And now she’s gone._

N’xhin’s words fell through one ear and out of the other, his smile felt fake as he spoke of her great deeds. N’ulu’s testimony to her skill during the First Hunt was flat, the details of the Ixali attack promptly left out.  Her half-sister seemed shaken even as she stepped back into the crowd, mismatched eyes staring into the depths of her own world of thought.  Her father’s words woke N’thaliah back into the present, and she nodded to N’xhin, fumbling through her vows to uphold the N tribe rules and regulations. 

Chants were sung into the night, praises to Azeyma as the tribe feasted afterward, but the food tasted like nothing to her and the music made her wish she could dance under the stars with N’laani and N’ranvih.  She tried her hardest to laugh and smile, but she found herself more often than not staring into the campfire, wondering where her sister was and if she would be able to find help wherever she had gone.

 _One day, I’ll see you again, N’laani.  And one day, we’ll all see N’ranvih again._   For some reason, through her heartache, that thought made her smile.  In all of the days that would follow, she would greet the sunrise as it graced the Coerthan highlands, wondering when she would see N’laani return, her spear in hand and full of the light she once had.  Some days, she would wait for hours, listening to the birdsong and the wind in the trees, wishing to herself and humming to herself.

And though N’laani never returned, N’thaliah held onto hope, knowing that their separation was only temporary.  She knew that each day that passed by was just another story they could exchange when they finally saw each other again. 


End file.
